Aftermath
by Woof
Summary: My whimsical imagining of events post PotW, written just after it aired. Most assuredly AU and inaccurate, utter fanwank nonsense. Everyone copes with regeneration. Only a little bit of angst.
1. Wherein Rose Rationalizes The Situation

A/N: Just something that fell out of my brain last night when I couldn't sleep. Dunno if I'll continue with it or not. This is just sort of how I imagined Rose's initial reaction to... well, you know. She's a rational girl, right?

* * *

"So where was I…. Oh that's right! Barcelona!"

At that precise moment about a billion thoughts were trying to force themselves through Rose Tyler's brain; but curiosity about a planet possessed of olfactory-impaired canines was not one of them. Well, to be fair, perhaps it was one of the minor considerations jumbled up in there, but it was rather overwhelmingly shouted down by other such concerns as, 'What the hell just happened,' and 'Dear god I am _really_ freaked out right now.' Her fingernails dug into the coral support column, clinging to the TARDIS for dear sanity as her heart thudded somewhere in the vicinity of her throat.

The Doctor – was it the Doctor? Had to be; he'd been standing right there just a second ago saying good-bye, and then she'd watched his whole body go up in sort of a burning golden light; she'd seen his features contort and resettle themselves, the ears shrink, the hair grow out – and then he was standing there, looking a bit disoriented, and now he was flashing her a big winning smile, and she had no idea how she was supposed to react.

She was spared the decision when, in the next moment, his eyes rolled back in his head and he pitched bonelessly forward onto the metal grating of the floor.

That jolted her out of her state of shock. "Doctor!" she shouted, letting go the column and dropping to her knees beside his prone form. She grabbed hold of his shoulders and tried to shake him awake. The battered leather jacket slid loosely under her hands, now evidently a good size too large for his frame; but no response was forthcoming from the man wearing it. She rolled him over with a grunt of effort and tried very hard not to look at his face as she bent over him and held her breath, listening intently for his own while her fingers probed his neck for a pulse.

She felt the warmth of a faint exhalation on her cheek just a moment before she finally found the trip-hammer thudding of his binary vascular system under her fingers. All right, so he was alive.

Relief, at this realization, momentarily flooded over the other emotions battling for dominance, and then quite naturally turned itself over to annoyance. "Could have given me a _bit_ more warning," she scolded his insensate form, which was now grinning stupidly at the ceiling and offered no manner of witty retort.

This in turn led to a chain of jumbled thoughts. Gave you about as much warning as he could, silly girl. Well no, not really, he'd had, after all, a whole _year_ at least, wherein at any time he could have _mentioned_, 'Oh by the way, Time Lords don't die, we just turn into different people.' But maybe he didn't want to freak you out. Well, fat lot of good _that_ plan did him, yeah? Well it's not like he was _planning_ to run into a half-million Daleks and…

Rose frowned. And what? She pressed the side of her fist against her forehead, trying to remember. Dammit: she'd been home; he'd sent her home, the great bloody git; the great… wonderful man… he'd sent her away with his TARDIS forever and ever just to save her, and—

Rose didn't realize she was crying until she choked on a sob. She dragged her hand down her face until she was biting down on clenched knuckles, trying to control the great shuddering paroxysms of unexpected grief that wracked her body. He had died for her. She had come back in spite of his selfless attempt to save her, and he had died for her.

Except he hadn't died, had he? She sniffled loudly and wiped her nose with the back of her right hand, the left moving of its own accord to rest hesitantly on his chest. She could feel his hearts racing; feel the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage under her hand as he breathed. Whatever had just happened, it had obviously taken a lot out of him. Maybe he just needed a good solid sleep.

Yes, that was it. He'd rest up, regain his strength, and then he'd wake up and laugh and she'd smack him right across that new face of his for giving her such a scare. This thought was heartening, and she even managed a faint smile as she dared to brush an errant lock of his feathery hair away from his forehead.

It didn't seem quite right to just leave him lying here on the control room floor; but it wasn't as if she could carry him to his room either. He looked a bit slimmer but every bit as tall as he'd always been. If Jack were here they might have been able to manage it between the two of them, but—

Oh, god. Jack.

Where was Jack? She couldn't believe the Doctor would have left him behind. Was he dead, then? Her brain refused to accept that. Somehow the Doctor had beaten the Daleks; so Jack _couldn't_ be dead. Just couldn't. Right. Well, they were in a time machine. Soon as the Doctor was up and about again, they'd go right back to the scene of the crime and collect him. She nodded authoritatively to herself.

In the meantime…

"Sorry Doctor, but you're a bit old to ride piggyback," she told him as she arranged his splayed limbs into more comfortable positions, straightening his legs and folding his hands over his chest. At least eight hundred years too old, she thought, with a slightly hysterical mental giggle. At least now she knew how he did it. Wondered how many times he'd done this in order to get up to nine centuries. At least a couple dozen, she guessed, given the way he ran around looking for trouble.

She chewed on her lip and considered his peacefully comatose form for some moments, then decided she could chance leaving his side for a few minutes. "Don't go anywhere," she admonished, and slipped into the inner rooms of the TARDIS.

The TARDIS, who, bless her old telepathic mechanical soul, knew just what she was looking for, and placed the linen closet just a short jog down the hallway. Beaming mental waves of gratitude to the ship (she hoped), Rose snatched up a pillow and blanket and returned to the control room, arranging the former gently under the Doctor's head, and draping the latter over his body. Not that he ever seemed to get uncomfortably hot or cold; but it just seemed the right thing to do. At least now he looked like he'd just decided to camp out in the control room, rather than collapse there.

At a loss, now, of what else to do, she sank to the floor and sat cross-legged beside him, absently stroking his arm. "I'll be here when you wake up," she promised.

Long before her vigil was through, she had crumpled over and dropped off in exhaustion, her head and one arm pillowed on his chest in a protective curl. The TARDIS considerately dimmed the lights and stilled her engines, leaving the soft sound of her passengers' tandem breaths to echo in the quiet room.


	2. Wherein the Doctor Sadly Disappoints

A/N: Ok, by semi-popular demand, here's a bit more! Not really happy with it; I decided to try writing this one from the Doctor's POV, which turned out to be... well, really hard. If anyone'd care to offer suggestions, I'm all ears. :)

* * *

His first thought, when he opened his eyes, was to wonder why the control room was so dark. The second was, 'Why am I lying on the floor of the control room?' The third, fourth and fifth were rather jumbled together and consisted, respectively, of 'I must have regenerated again,' 'What's this great weight draped over my chest,' and 'Bloody hell, my head hurts.'

He lifted his head slightly – there was a pillow under it; that was thoughtful; he wondered who'd put it there – and squinted at the mess of peroxide blonde hair bundled on his chest. A moment later he made out the face behind the mane of hair, and realized with no small relief that there was someone lying on top of him; he hadn't actually grown another head out of his torso.

Small favors, he thought to himself, and tested what appendages he could find. Two arms, two legs, one head. Excellent. His left hand appeared to be entangled in the grip of his slumbering companion, but he was able to lift the right to massage his aching temples. At least, that was the idea; instead he paused with his hand halfway to his face, blinking owlishly at it as if it belonged to someone else.

The weight on his chest shifted slightly and he must have made some involuntary reflexive grunt, because a moment later the girl – pretty girl, seemed a bit familiar; he supposed she must have been his current traveling companion – sat bolt upright and wide awake, staring into his face, her grip tightening convulsively on his left hand.

"Hello," he tried. It seemed a bit safer opening than, 'Excuse me, who are you?'

"Hello," she replied softly, a bit apprehensive. Well, that was all right; at least she wasn't beating him about the head and shoulders and demanding to know who the hell he was. Which raised an interesting question, actually…

"Doctor?" she asked then, tentatively. Ah yes, that's right.

"That's me," he tried on a grin for size and found it didn't fit too badly. "Version ten, I suppose, unless I got hit on the head a lot harder than I thought."

"You fell…" she started to explain, but trailed off awkwardly, biting her lip. For a moment he thought she might be about to cry, but she took a bracing breath instead and asked matter-of-factly, "You all right?"

"All right as can be expected," he smiled in what he hoped was a comforting manner, although his head felt like it was about to burst. "You try tearing down and rebuilding your body cell by cell sometime, see how you feel."

She smiled weakly back at him. "I'll pass, thanks." She gave his left hand another squeeze, and after a moment's hesitation, he laid his right hand over them both.

"Are _you_ all right?"He asked, softly.

"Yeah," she replied, too quickly, and stared at the jumble of interlacing fingers for some moments. He sat up slowly with a grunt of effort, keeping his hands clasped with hers; but she jerked away suddenly, letting out an apologetic, "Bit freaked out, I guess," and a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, don't," she replied, shaking her head. "I mean… you did what you had to do." She grinned bravely. "Never doubted you a moment, you know: the Doctor versus the whole Dalek fleet? They never stood a chance, yeah?"

Daleks? Oh… yes. He frowned.

"So really Doctor, how did you beat them? I know your singing voice is to die for, but really."

He smiled uneasily, twisting the blanket between his hands. "I, ah, can't remember just now."

"Can't remember?" she asked, in a tone that suggested she was half-convinced he was having her on.

He felt a twinge of annoyance and snapped, a bit more sharply than he meant to, "Just got rebuilt from the cellular level, remember? It's a bit disorienting, all right?"

She blinked in open surprise at his tone. "Sorry," she muttered. She gripped the edge of the TARDIS console and pulled herself to her feet. At this movement, the lights returned to their normal level, and he winced briefly, shielding his eyes with one hand. "Well, look," she continued briskly, trailing her fingers over the controls and then turning back to him with an impish grin, "you remember how to work this thing at least, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course," he agreed, gathering his legs under himself and standing up carefully. She belatedly offered him a supporting hand, but he waved it off, balancing with both palms flat on the console. The sleeves of his jacket drooped from his shoulders and bunched up at his wrists. He sighed.

"You're a bit shorter," she observed, playfully drawing an imaginary line from the top of her head to the bridge of his nose. "Not by much," she added, when he glared. "Particularly when you count the hair." Which she daringly ruffled.

He smirked at her. "Did you want to go somewhere?"

All business again, she dropped her hands to her sides and nodded. "We've got to go back, look for Jack. If you don't remember what exactly happened, then there's all the more reason to find out."

He felt his brows knit together in puzzlement, and asked without thinking, "Who?"

Almost immediately he realized that this was the wrong thing to say, and swore inwardly.

The girl's eyes had gone wide. "You don't remember _Jack_?" she blurted in disbelief.

He grinned nervously. "Err… no. Sorry?"

This, also, was the wrong response.

"_Disorienting_?" she demanded. "You can remember bloody Barcelona but not _Jack_?" She looked like she wanted to hit him; he braced himself instinctively, but then she suddenly looked horrified instead. "…D'you remember me?" she asked, in a small voice.

"Well…"

"Doctor!"

"You're very familiar," he offered hopefully.

"What's my name, Doctor?"

"Look, just give me some time; most of my memory usually comes back in a couple of days…"

"Most of it?" she yelled.

Now we were into the hysterics. All right, stay calm. He rolled his shoulders to release some tension; which didn't help as it only served to remind him that his jacket no longer fit. He tried a winning smile; which also didn't help as it only served to remind him that his teeth no longer fit, either.

"You didn't say anything about not remembering me," she accused, keeping her voice even with an obvious effort.

He stepped forward; tried to take her hand. She withdrew, staring at him as if she'd never seen him before. He supposed, in a way, she hadn't. Sentimental little apes, so hung up on appearances. "What's my name?" she whispered.

He sighed. Shut his eyes tight. Tried to think past the last ten minutes or so, which as far as he was currently concerned, was when life had begun. The throbbing in his temples increased as he pushed and prodded for something, anything that'd keep this girl from hurting herself. Finally, a name offered itself up reluctantly from somewhere in the mess of his time brain.

"Ace?" he blurted; but he knew it was wrong. His eyes flew open just in time to see her scoot around the opposite side of the console and run for the inner door. "No, wait," he cried at her back, "I know it, I do…"

The door slammed shut behind her. He tossed a glance up at the ceiling. "Thanks," he informed the TARDIS dryly, then groaned and leaned his forehead against one of the support columns. "Bloody hell. Rose…."


	3. Wherein He Finally Changes his Wardrobe

Some two hours later, Rose had cried herself out, but bereft of tears, she just felt empty.

She sat on her bed, knees tucked up beneath her chin, staring bleakly at the wall. There was a poster stuck up there; she'd spotted it in some tacky bazaar on Legosa III and taken a liking to the abstract geometry and nebulous colors of it. Sort of Escher-meets-Monet. The Doctor had laughed as he'd bought it for her, and not told her until after she'd put it up on her wall that it was a map of the local gas mains. She had stuck out her tongue and left it up anyway.

And now he didn't remember her.

_Before I go, I just want to tell you, you were fantastic._

He was right; he had gone. Only it was worse because he'd left some imposter in his place. One who knew he was the Doctor, knew about Barcelona and flying a TARDIS, but didn't know any of the important things. None of the things that had made the Doctor… the Doctor.

She felt her eyes burning but she had no tears left. She scrunched her eyes tight and buried her face in her arms, and couldn't help but think that somehow, this was all her fault.

There was a knock at the door.

She didn't want to talk to him. Didn't want to look at him.

"Rose, it's me," he called.

"Who bloody else would it be," she muttered, flopping back on the mattress and staring blankly up at the canopy of her four poster bed.

There was a jiggle at the door handle. "Rose, look, we need to talk. Can I come in?" After a few moments when she didn't reply, he added, "You know, the sonic screwdriver could take care of this lock easily enough. I do remember how to use that." His voice, too young, wrongly pitched, lilted even higher at the end in an attempt at joviality.

She just felt sick. Her stomach twisted around the great emptiness inside her and she clenched her teeth to fight down a wave of nausea. He remembered the sonic screwdriver, but not her.

She heard a faint thud as slumped against the opposite side of the door. "All right, I was just kidding," he said, his voice muffled now. He must be speaking to the corridor wall opposite her room, his back to the door. "But you can't stay in there forever, you know. Eventually the temptation to come out and hit me is going to win out."

She bit her lip. Didn't want to laugh. A tiny snicker escaped anyway, and brought along a coughing fit. She reflexively wiped at her eyes, but they'd dredged up only the faintest dampness from her exhausted tear ducts. She settled for wiping her nose instead, and sat up again to let her abused sinuses drain.

"Regeneration's never easy," he was saying. "I'm so sorry, Rose. I think – I know – I wished I'd had more time to explain it to you. There's irony for you. A Time Lord, running out of time." He laughed sardonically.

The gentle drone of his voice was oddly comforting, somehow. She felt something loosen in her chest, as if a great angry fist had finally stopped squeezing her heart, and scowled, because she didn't want to be comforted right now. She was much more comfortable being angry. But still, something in the way he spoke…

"Are you even awake in there?" he asked, his voice coming back into sharper clarity as he addressed the door directly again.

Not the way he'd said it. _What_ he'd said. She slid abruptly off the bed and crossed the room to yank the door open. He, having been leaning against it, nearly fell on top of her, but managed to catch hold of the doorframe and hold himself up with just a small stumble. She balled her fists and forced herself to look into his eyes. Eyes that were brown when they should have been blue, and were missing all of their familiar laugh-lines. "Say it again," she whispered.

He looked bewildered. "I'm sorry?"

Her jaw quivered and she fought not to be sick. Standing up suddenly after having been lying on one's bed having a good cry was not the best thing for equilibrium. "No," she said, and found that her voice was surprisingly, obediently calm. "The part where you said my name."

His face split in a broad grin. "Rose."

She wished she'd the wherewithal to make an appropriate response to this: this revelation that he _did_ remember her, after all; but all her exhausted body could manage was a faint hiccup as she leaned into him, nestling wearily against his chest. She felt his hands, steadying, about her shoulders; felt soft lips press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. "It's going to be all right," he murmured.

"Thought I'd lost you," she mumbled, clenching hold of one of the loose folds of his shirt and noticing for the first time that he'd finally changed out of that damn jumper. She bit down a faintly hysterical giggle. Maybe the Doctor had finally grown a bit of fashion sense along with his new hair?

"Not getting rid of me that easily," he said brightly. She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed away slightly, looking curiously up at his face. He shifted his eyes uneasily at the scrutiny; then settled on raising one expressive eyebrow in an unspoken, 'What?'

"Do lots of planets have a Scotland, then?"

He squinted puzzledly, needing a moment to process the question; then his eyes lit up as he placed some errant memory. "As a matter of fact," he replied drolly, "yes, but they don't all call it that."

"You get too much further north and you really will be Father Christmas."

"Well, I've got three lives left to get there," he grinned. "Don't hold your breath though; I plan to hold on to this one for a while, thanks."

"Three?"

"Thirteen total. I've been doing this a while, remember."

"Right," Rose nodded, committing this tidbit to memory. She drew back a bit more, sliding her hands over his bare forearms – he'd rolled the French cuffs of his sleeves back to the elbow – and playing absently with his hands. "Well, now you're in double-digits, guess you'd better be more careful, yeah?"

"Never been very good at that," he said sheepishly.

"Good thing you've got me to keep an eye on you, then." She took another deep breath, still feeling a rather out of sorts about the whole thing, but comforted to know she wasn't in it alone. "We've got to find Jack," she turned the subject around again, looking firmly back up into his eyes.

"Rose, I—"

"You trust me, right?" she interjected sharply. "I know you don't remember him but we have to go back. We can't just leave him there."

"It's not that, Rose, I…" his brow creased fretfully. "I was the last person on that station. I remember the Daleks, all around me… they couldn't have gotten to me without going through everyone else there. He must've…" his voice seemed to fail him. As if he couldn't quite bring himself to say the word 'exterminated.'

Rose set her jaw determinedly. "Either way, we're not leaving him."

He nodded, slowly. "All right." The quiet words, the serious expression; neither seemed to fit very well on his youthful face, but it was undeniably the Doctor who had spoken them. Rose set her lips in a thin smile and clasped his hand tightly as they headed to the control room together.


	4. Wherein Difficulties Are Encountered

A/N: I must be insane... this started as just a bit of fluff drabble to cheer myself up out of end-of-series doldrums. But hey, if it cheers up other people too, then lay on MacDuff. I'm starting to have fun with this. This bit, particularly, is quite lighthearted, I think. Next issue: JACK!

* * *

The Doctor leaned over the console, drumming his fingers restlessly and sucking on his teeth. Rose scooted up beside him to peer over his shoulder. "Problem?"

"Yes. I mean no. I mean… just thinking." He shook his head, straightened up and lifted a finger in her direction as if he were about to deliver some sort of lesson; then squinted in a distracted manner and turned to walk the other way around the console instead. Rose kept on his heels, bemused.

"The problem," he announced, moments before she was about to prod him again, "lies in getting back to the scene of the crime safely." He flipped a couple of switches on his route around the time controls.

"Well that's easy, isn't it? Just tell the TARDIS to reverse course – put us right back where we left. That's how I got back to the station in the first place. At least, I think it is," Rose grimaced at her inability to recall clearly; then grinned and punched the Doctor lightly in the arm. "Starting to sound like you now. Couple of amnesiacs, off to save the universe, we are."

The Doctor muttered something under his breath that she couldn't quite make out. 'Other have mercy?' That made no sense. Before she could inquire, he interrupted her thought process again.

"Well we could do that, yes, if we wanted to risk tearing a hole in the web of time. Dropping back into the same time-stream right after a major disruption of the space-time continuum… not the best odds. Nasty things can come crawling out of holes like that."

"Reapers," said Rose grimly, with a shudder.

He glanced at her in surprise. "How did you—oh… right," he frowned, his eyes going a bit distant in the manner she was beginning to recognize as signifying he'd just remembered something. He waved his hands dismissively, bringing himself back to the subject at hand. "Well, I'm not sure exactly what happened but if I regenerated because I absorbed all of the energy of the Time Vortex… I must've done something big. No, best we don't land too close to the event." He turned his gaze back to the TARDIS controls with a fiendish gleam and thumbed the temporal altimeter. "But, if we aim for… let's say twenty-four hours ahead – well that ought to be safe enough, eh old girl?"

"Sounds good to me," Rose agreed, in lieu of the TARDIS who seemed unlikely to voice a response.

"Off we go then!" the Doctor proclaimed, engaging the time engines with a jaunty tug of one of the levers, flinging out his free arm to drape it over her shoulders. This was, as it turned out, fortunate, because the time ship suddenly lurched beneath their feet with a groan of protest, and she found herself clutching at him for balance.

"That shouldn't happen," he mused, peering up at the time rotor. He held his position on the bucking deck like a sea captain amid a storm, almost absentmindedly supporting Rose with his left hand, while the right pulled thoughtfully at his lower lip.

"What's going on?" Rose gasped over her initial shock, finding and grabbing hold of the edge of the console to hold herself upright.

"Either we've run into some turbulence – which is unlikely – or the TARDIS isn't happy with the coordinates I just put in. Come on now!" he raised his voice, addressing the ship directly, "Don't be that way – what's the matter; don't you trust me?"

The console replied with a dissatisfied 'blaaat'.

"We'll just see about that," he shot back, producing a mallet from somewhere beneath the console.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Doctor," Rose felt her voice go a bit sing-song as she held tight to the edge of the console to weather another jolt.

"Nonsense, I know what I'm doing!" he called back, an almost gleeful grin splitting his features. He hovered, predatorily, over the console as if it were a particularly challenging game of Whack-a-Mole. Two sharp, expertly-placed taps from the mallet later, the time ship wheezed to a sudden halt. "There, you see?" he started triumphantly, and then coughed and spluttered as a well-aimed jet of lubricating fluid hit him in the face. "No need to get shirty with me, now," he scolded, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve and tossing a contemplative look at the monitor readouts.

Rose let go her death-grip on the console carefully. "So where are we?"

"We're on the Gamestation, for all her waffling about," he reported, dragging a finger down the monitor screen. "It's been more than twenty-four hours though. More like a month."

"A month?" she cried in dismay.

He looked up apologetically. "She wouldn't let me get any closer, Rose, I'm sorry."

"Well," Rose gathered herself with a deep breath and clapped her hands together. "In any case we might find some clue, right? Surely he'd have found a way off the station by now, but he would've left a message?"

The Doctor shrugged at her, a bit helplessly. "I don't remember him, Rose – you tell me."

"He would have," she decided determinedly, and strode purposefully for the door.

The Doctor hesitated another moment, eyes back on the monitor, then suddenly yelped and leaped after her. "Wait!"

She felt her arm caught in his surprisingly strong grip; and then she was yanked completely off-balance and thumped on top of him in a muddle of limbs to the floor. "What was that for?" she demanded, pulling herself out of the tangle and glaring.

He held up his hands in a defensive posture, still lying half on his back. "Sorry. It's just – there's no air."

"No air?" Rose frowned, shooting a glance at the door, which was, in fact, locked, with an amber warning light informing her so. "Good thing you tackled me, then," she observed dryly; "or that big nasty lock might've stopped me, yeah?"

He turned his eyes from her to the door, took a few beats to process this; then grinned sheepishly. "Ah… yeah, I guess so. Sorry 'bout that."

"Guess that's why the TARDIS didn't want to land us here," she conjectured.

"Seems that way," he grunted, crab-walking up the ramp and bouncing back to his feet. "Sorry, old girl," he called in a generally upwards direction. He resumed his spot at the controls, absently flicking a couple of switches and scratching the back of his head. Rose repressed a snort of amusement as his hair stuck itself out at all angles in response.

"So what now?" she asked instead, dusting herself off.

"Hold on a tick," he replied, without looking at her: his eyes were fixed again on the monitor. "Scanning the news feeds. Things have sure been shaken up down there, haven't they?" he added, mostly to himself.

"Aha!" he cried suddenly; and Rose jumped. He stabbed a finger triumphantly at the indistinguishable stream of characters on the screen. "Survivors of the Gamestation Battle – sounds a bit odd, doesn't it? Like some sort of tournament," he laughed delightedly and continued, "—have been evacuated to…" he paused, frowned quizzically, then finally looked up at her. "London," he concluded. "Why is it always London? Why not Rio De Janeiro? Or Pittsburgh?"

"Why not London?" Rose countered his mystified musing with a smile. "Who knows – maybe it's some sort of cosmic nexus point."

"Or just a fantastic coincidence," he grinned brightly.

Rose couldn't quite muster a rejoinder upon hearing his favorite word so utterly mispronounced like that – Glaswegian, honestly, for god's sake – but he didn't seem to mind, enthusiastically twisting knobs and pulling levers to reset their destination point.

"London it is, then!"


	5. Wherein Jack Hits on the Wrong Person

A/N: I think this is the last installment.Major fannish warm fuzzies warning. Hopefully it leaves folks with a smile. :)

* * *

'God damn cold,' thought Jack Harkness, formerly Captain Jack Harkness, now just Jack-stranded-in-the-year-200100-Harkness. He was quite certain that by this point in Earth's technological evolution, they had come up with better methods of environmental control than circulated air heaters, but what with the major superpowers of the planet having gone a bit pear-shaped a month back – both in the local vernacular, and in some cases, quite literally – it seemed that a lot of the grand technology of the fourth great and bountiful human empire had gone on the blink.

He stamped his feet and tugged his muffler a bit higher around his ears. Of course, he could have been ensconced comfortably inside his nice heated apartment right now, but ever since he'd spirited that bomb away from 1941 London ('Just beyond those buildings there,' he thought absently), he'd been plagued by this irritating sense of responsibility.

"You're an idiot, Jack," he muttered, watching his breath condense. He didn't _have_ to stand out here in the cold with such a crap self-imposed duty, but he'd felt obligated to, somehow. Helping the newly-arrived refugees – and they were still trickling in, from all over – get themselves sorted out and placed with roofs over their heads and food in their bellies… in a way it helped alleviate the guilty feeling that he shouldn't have survived in the first place.

And it helped him forget the bitter taste in his mouth whenever he thought of his last sight of salvation, fading away before his eyes into the eddies of Time.

Not that he planned to be stuck here forever. He wasn't just an ex-Time Agent; he was Jack Harkness, con man extraordinaire and one resourceful son of a bitch. But with the planet reeling from the aftereffects of a full-scale Dalek attack, it'd take a while for things to get back to normal. Or at least normal enough that he could entertain stealing the parts to make a rudimentary time shunt.

At least he got to meet people this way. Take that fellow over there, now, shuffling out of the train station with a rather lost look about him… Jack lifted his chin up out of the muffler, tilting his head for a better view, and felt his face crease in a rakish grin. Tall, not exactly dark, but well, two out of three wasn't bad. Jack rubbed his gloved hands together and set off to greet another refugee.

"Hi there," he greeted boisterously, extending one hand as he came within range. The newcomer jerked around startledly, having been peering off down the street; blinked at the proffered hand a couple of times, and then shook it.

Young fellow, Jack observed approvingly, bit of an Elvis thing going on with the feathered hair and sideburns. Wasn't particularly well-dressed for the weather: a knee-length coat of a sort of dark blue suede – 'Definitely Elvis,' thought Jack – with a red scarf draped around his neck; but none of the buttons were fastened, and he was wearing nothing underneath but a slightly ruffled white shirt and jeans.

"Jack Harkness," he introduced himself, when the refugee made no opening statement himself. "Official Welcoming Committee," he grinned, still shaking the guy's hand. "Where you in from?"

"Oh, all over, really," said the young man, peering very hard at him. Gorgeous brown eyes; Jack began to think that this might turn out to be a good day after all.

"All over?" he quipped. "Sounds like up north, to me. That's okay, I'm not from around here either."

The refugee looked mildly puzzled for a moment, then seemed to recognize he was referring to his accent, and shrugged it off with an absent, "Yes, I suppose so. You said your name was Jack?"

Jack wasn't sure whether to feel elated, or start feeling mildly creeped-out by the way the guy was staring at him. "That's me," he erred on the side of brightness for now.

"Brigadier – no, Captain – Jack?"

The other man had let go his hand now; an almost fiendish light burning in his eyes. Jack swallowed hard. For both reasons. "Used to be," he nodded, as his smile slowly faded. "Do I… know you from somewhere?" Two years of his life missing; just his luck that some Time Agent he couldn't remember would track him down here.

However no revelation of the sort was forthcoming. A delighted smile split the stranger's face from ear to ear, and he jabbed a finger at him triumphantly. "Yes! I _do_ remember you! Jack! Hahaa!" And then abruptly Jack found himself engulfed in an impossibly powerful bear hug, spun around once and set down back on his feet with a snowy crunch.

"What…?" was all he could manage.

The odd young man was practically dancing circles around him, scuffing up snow and slush and throwing a defiant roar of laughter into the overcast sky. He flung his arms wide as if he wanted to hug the whole of creation; and then paused abruptly with his hands still in the air, grinning at him with an air of manic expectance. Jack stared.

"Oh come on now, Jackie-boy, you didn't think we'd leave you, did you?" He dropped one arm and dug in his coat pocket for a small transmitter device, which he activated smartly. "And flirting with me, of course," he addressed no one in particular, shaking his head. "She should have mentioned the flirting; I'm sure that would've jogged a memory or two." One arm was still thrust into the air, but he didn't seem to notice.

At this bizarre display, Jack began, cautiously, to back away. "Look, if this is a Time Agency thing, I had nothing to do with this. I was trying to help!"

His newfound friend stared at him in what seemed to be utter bafflement. "Time Agency?" he spat finally. "Why on Earth – or any other planet – would it have anything to do with that?" He made a grab for Jack's wrist. "Come on then, she'll want to see you. I've already sent the signal; we'll be late!"

"Late for what?" Jack asked, bemused, allowing himself to be caught and dragged along at a jog. Worse things could happen than being kidnapped by an admittedly odd but good-looking wacko. "Where're we going?"

"To the TARDIS, of course," replied the man as if that should have been obvious.

Jack tried to plant his feet; but his escort was stronger than he looked and tugged him along insistently. "How did you know about that?" he demanded.

At this, the young man stopped and turned to stare at him. "Why wouldn't I know about it?"

Something was tickling at the back of his brain; something he'd read a very long time ago back when Time Lords and Daleks hadn't been dismissed as mere mythology. Something about Gallifreyans and… rejuvenation? Regeneration. Suddenly he forgot to breathe; and was therefore surprised when his next question came out in a rather choked squeak.

"…Doctor?"

"Well who else did you think I could be?" came the testy reply.

Jack remembered to breathe then, and let out a joyous war-whoop as he bounced forward to throw his arms around him; but he arrested the movement in mid-stride and simply clapped his hands over the Time Lord's upper arms instead, staring with amazement into his face. "Is it really you?"

"Well if I'm not, I've got some explaining to do, haven't I—what are you doing?" the dry rejoinder turned to a sharply startled query as Jack tugged his gloves off with his teeth and thrust both hands under the lapels of the blue suede coat. "Honestly, do you do this on all of your first dates? Wait – don't answer that…"

"Shhh," Jack hissed insistently, waiting tensely until his cold hands relayed to his brain the distinct thudding of a double heartbeat. "It is you!"

"Yes, and I'll thank you to stop pawing me, please," the Doctor swatted his hands away and tugged his coat closed with one hand and a disgruntled 'hrmph'.

"Same old Doctor," Jack laughed, punching him in the shoulder. "Or young Doctor, as the case may be? Though I have to say: love what you've done with your hair."

"Can we discuss this later? Rose'll be waiting."

"She's here too?" Jack burst, his head shooting up of its own accord to peer over the Doctor's shoulder as if she should be right there.

"Well, if you'd just let me take you to the TARDIS—"

And then she was there, slipping around a corner of the slushy street, catching herself with a wild flailing of one arm, and throwing herself breathlessly into both of them with an incoherent shout that might have been his name, might have been just plain joy; at the moment he didn't really care which, because then her lips were smashed against his in a fierce, desperate kiss and he didn't really want to think about anything else.

An eternity later, the necessity for oxygen finally forced them apart, and she beamed up at him cheekily. "Think you found the right one," she observed approvingly to the nine-hundred-year-old alien standing off to the side watching them with a smug grin.

"He's awfully quiet," Jack muttered impishly, his eyes still locked with hers. "Maybe he wants a kiss too?"

"I'll pass, thanks," came the dry response; but he did deign to step up and toss his arms around both of them. "Now that we've rounded up all the lost sheep, though, how about we head somewhere a bit warmer?"

"Barcelona?" Rose suggested brightly.

Jack enthused, "I've heard of that place! Did you know they've got dogs with—"

"I've heard," Rose interrupted, laughing. "Well Doctor, I'd say it's high time we got back to gallivanting through space and time, wouldn't you? Got to build you some new memories after all."

He grinned at them both. "Fantastic."


End file.
